I think a few parties involved are in dire need of a reading of "Co-dependent No More" (one party being the man himself, yes, Mr. Codepency, Inflated Sense of Responsibility, Watch How I Suffer and Feel the Guilt, the late J.C.) If Mel understood anything about healthy boundaries, he would know that Jesus Christ, while a seemingly groovy guy at times in his life (he really should have gone into medicine), must have hit a proverbial bottom in his life. I know that my bottoms have been characterized by the same sense of martydom and acceptance of abuse. But no, Mel, had to go and further glorify the one and only, most powerful symbol of guilt, martyrdom and manipulation in Western history.

I spent the majority of the movie humming Jesus Christ Superstar to myself until the woman next to me told me to be quiet. At least the musical depicted Christ as asking himself, "Am I crazy? What kind of God would have me suffer?!" Which is, I think, a very good question. It seems crazy for any God to want want his creation to be beaten to hamburger. I was taught at a young age that there might be some inherent worth or nobility in feeling bad. But now I am over it. So, get happy, Mel, so you don't feel the need to make any movies about how great it is to accept violence. I don't see any shrines to victims of domestic violence. If I walked out in front of a bus because I thought God told me to, I don't think there would be any shrines to me. I really don't. I don't mean to sound condescending, but I'm praying for you, Mel.

Just for today, I can say a condescending prayer for Mel Gibson.

Ok, so excuse me for getting the title wrong and forgetting to insert the "the" that Mel threw in there. Thirty-two years of church going (very sporadically...actually, make that about twenty years within a 32 year time frame) has just left me calling him plain Christ. I wasn't hip to the adjunct article because I haven't been up on the seventy million articles written about this movie. I'm just making small talk about another movie based on the most famous man in creation. So, please forgive my cluelessness, I'll try to keep up in the future.

A few years ago, my sister was having some problems, and my parents hired a pschologist who ran some tests on her. As it turns out, she has a condition known as Humanitis, an affliction that hits some people in their early-teens. It is a disorder whose symptoms consist of a complete and total inability to engage in any pretense, and a proclivity to human reactions to life. If not treated, it can really wreck havoc on families. For instance, if you don't do something someone wants you to do, and they threaten to hurt you, the response of someone with Humanitis will be to get upset, or angry or cry. That's just one symptom. Or another symptom is not wanting to put a frozen smile on your face when people are overtly condescending or try to bully you (I know I have this symptom). Generally, it's a problem because it makes it hard to function in society, can make you unemployable in occupations that attract a high number of people with Kissassistis (a disorder whose symptom is complete soulessness).

The treatment consists of a barrage of medication and some intense socialization (clearly, I never had this) about how to be passive aggressive and communicate with silent evil looks. Because she's young, my sister is getting help, however, I think I may be too far gone. For years I've shown emotion at the work place, crying at my desk and everything. However, in the past few months I've started to say what I think at all times, and not laughed at jokes that aren't funny (especially ones told by people in authority). I'm a little scared, but there is also a liberation in my acceptance.

Just for today, I can accept my Humanitis.

Am considering desperate measures for IBS. Yes, I'm even considering visiting my doctor. The only thing stopping me is the thought of his condescending, eye-ball rolling, deameanor when he says things like, "You don't have AIDS," (Oh, yeah, how do you know who I've slept with or what drugs I've done? - blood transfusions he would probably know about). Or, "You're not going to die," (mmmm, yeah...just who are you?! God?!). Or, even, "you might want to consider renting a parking space in our lot, hahahahhaha!" (Um...I'm not laughing). So, now that I have a painful stressful condition, he's the last person I feel like seeing. As a dealer, there's no better person to go to for a fix of Tylenol with Codeine or Claritin. He'll have me flying high in no time. But for serious medical concerns about serious medical conditions that I have heard about or read about or fantasized about, he's not a very sympathetic ear (oh, I know all about HMOs and hypochondriac patients and blah blah blah). Still, there might be some bowel freezer out there on the pharmaceutical market.

Just for today, I can consider visiting my doctor about IBS.

Boy, things got pretty deep. It's sort of shaken up my world. Like, I don't know who I am anymore. If Samantha is capable of monogamy, Miranda of an open heart, Charlotte of multiculturalism, and Carrie of faith, then who am I? Not to mention Mr. Big, who did about 400 years of therapy in a couple of episodes, (none of which we saw), and is now capable of deep and abiding love. The vortex of bitterness that was Sex and the City is no longer there to suck the doubt out of my belief in romantic love, and I'm left with trashy and evil reality shows on which to thrust my outrage. I'm grateful to the show for finally letting their characters grow up, I just think they went through so many levels so fast, I don't know where I am in the process. I'm thinking it might be a couple of seasons ago, when Carrie was dating Aidan and left Mr. Big to his own pathetic alcoholic life. I think this might be withdrawal symtoms.

Just for today, I can let go of Sex and the City.

It all started when I squeezed myself in between a young girl and a man. I complimented the girl on her purse (which had a picture of a pug on it), because I liked it and so that she would move over so that I could go to work on my coffee creation. Then the guy (on my right) nudged me like I was an old friend. I turned to him and he said, "Look at her shoes, too, she looks like a Hobitt." I thought maybe she knew him, but as she and I glanced at each other we realized that neither of us knew him, and that he had just dampened our happy girly exchange with his odd social graces. Suddenly, we were both faced with the fear of his impending weirdness. I really don't know what to do with people like this except to plaster a polite frozen smile on my face and make eye contact with anyone else around that communicates, "What social reform policy would keep this guy on his meds?" It's not that his comment was harmful, it's more the fear of where the interaction would lead. I suppose he needs love like every other lost soul trying to get a caffeine rush and desperate for some female human contact, but I've had too many experiences where even the slightest kindness displayed turns me into a stray dog magnet. So, I blessed him in my head, and beat the hell out of there.

Just for today, I can let go of my fear of the weirdos at the condiments counter.

I am realizing the importance of boundaries. And I'm not talking about the controlling manipulative kind (for instance, "Excuse me, but I'm going to have to set a boundary about you talking about the weather. I have weather issues, because in my childhood the weather changed a lot, so it brings up a lot of trauma for me to listen to you talk about how it might rain later today.") I'm talking more like ghetto boundaries, like "no, she dint," and that sort of thing. The kind that kept Russia from pulverizing the US in the cold war. The kind that make people think twice about making fun of Mike Tyson to his face.

I think in the past I confused kindness with disconnection with reality. If someone acts like a horror show bitch it's within the natural course of events, intuitive for most people, to a) stay away or b) behave or talk in some manner that effectually sends the message to "*#% off," it doesn't really matter how. I think when Jesus said, "Turn the other cheek" he was just misquoted and didn't get to finish his sentence (which so often happens to celebrities). He probably wanted to say something like, "Turn the other cheek to someone who has their act together (assuming that there is an Aramaic expression for 'get your act together'), or to something joyful in your life." But Luke (or whoever) just wrote down what he wanted to hear because he wanted to justify his own abusive behavior to his wife (or whoever). And what better way to guilt someone into condoning your behavior than to say "Hey, according to Jesus, you need to accept me more and not dwell on how I just threw a tantrum and broke all the water jugs!"

Just for today, I embrace my own boundaries.

I used to think that marriage and children looked like hell on earth. But it turns out, I had just been exposed to a lot of unhappy people who just happened to be married and have kids (and some happy people, who just happened to be single). The truth is, if I want a baby, there aren't too many other ways to go about it (that are pallatable for this feminist). Also, I never got the big hoopla about casual sex. (As much as I love Sex and the City, I have to say it has done nothing to even approximate my experience with casual sex....apparently some people don't need as much of a learning curve with new people...I mean new bodies). I do have fears that range from infidelity to boredom (because I don't want to run out of fears), but I have to say...I am really surprised by how conventional I really am. Lord, am I a cliche!

Just for today, it's OK to embrace the banality (fancy way of saying boringness...which is actually not really a word) of my nuclear family aspirations.

I love the word rhombus.

That's all I have for today.

According to The Course in Miracles, there is actually nothing else. And there aren't really different kinds of love, it's all the same cosmic glorious energy between everyone on the planet (kind of a lot to get your head around when you're stuck in traffic on the 405), but we're so bogged down in our lives we hardly can see it, let alone feel it. When I look at my own life, it's not the pain or the hate that feels like a big knife in my heart, but the love that I never accepted, that was always around, but I couldn't see because I was so worried about my resume, or my bills, or my frustration with the fact that people don't behave the way I want them to. It's not that I hurt people that haunts me, but that I didn't let them love me because I couldn't stand it.

Still, assuming there is such a thing as romantic love, I only have a few song lyrics that seem to capture something of what I think happens between two people trying to recognize (if you will) the love that exists between them.

So go ahead, push your luck, say what it is you gotta say to me,
We will push on into that mystery,
And it'll push right back, and there are worse things than that,
Cause for every price, and every penance that I could think of,
It's better to have fallen in love, Than never to have fallen at all,
Cause when you live in a world, well it gets into who you thought you'd be,
And now I laugh at how the world changed me, I think life chose me after all.

- Dar Williams, After All

Happy Valentine's Day!

Certain parts of my life are like budding little plants. My dreams and hopes, new creative projects, career and romantic risks. However, I have to be careful about who I share these parts of my life with because I may as well stick my plant in an arctic snowstorm and have it freeze and die for all the support I get. Not only that, but I also get "clutter" in my vibration (as if the clutter in my cabinets isn't daunting enough, I now have to worry about my vibration as well...will it never end?). The point is, is that it's lonely out here in Grown-up Land. It's not as easy to find people who jive with my sincerity. There was a lot more company for me when I availed myself to snarky comments and sarcasm. Of course that was lonely too, because I had to battle the knives coming at me, but at least people thought I was normal when I took the abuse. Still, at least I have a chance now at having a life that I want.

Just for today, I support the budding plant of my positive vibration.

9:00 am - Keyboards don't work very well when you spill coffee on them.

11:13 am- I wish I didn't know that human beings are dandruff machines and the latches in toilet stalls most likely never get cleaned.

12:48 pm - I think I need a hug from my mom. I'll even take one from someone who looks like her.

2:19 pm - Having a bad childhood and going to therapy does not make one deep. Neither does having a good childhood, not going to therapy, smoking pot, getting sober, meditating, or doing Yoga. I am happy to be the judge of all depth.

3:30 pm - There's absolutely no way I'll ever find out if my college boyfriends have googled me (unless, of course, I run into them and they tell me).

5:00 pm - The world will never know the extent of my ignorance of history, politics, and the history of politics because I'm so good at nodding.

5:30 pm - My future husband will have to be comfortable with my random, apparently sourceless burstings into tears.

My Inner Being knows exactly who I am and accepts me as perfect. My Outer Being is forever trying to conform to the psychotic standards of American culture.

My Inner Being knows that I have the attention span of a Pop Rock and is cool with that. My Outer Being feigns rapt attention when I have absolutely know idea what someone is talking about.

My Inner Being trusts that I have been truly loved by the men in my life. My Outer Being thinks that they are the posers my father claimed them to be.

My Inner Being wants to sing Karaoke all day and night, my Outer Being wants to torture myself with "work" and "earning" money.

My Inner Being knows that it's OK to spend the day reading the profile of the 563,231 people in my network on Friendster. My Outer Being sends me into a shame spiral for surfing the Internet.

My Inner Being wants to break out in the song everytime anyone asks me a question about Dreamweaver software ("Ooh dream weaver, I believe you can get me through the night.") My Outer Being feels that I am not equipped to function in an office environment.

Today my friend referred to the people at the Farmer's Market as the BoBos (Bohemian Bourgeouis). I've been thinking of a way to describe these people for years! Though I know it's only fear and envy, that makes me a judgemental pill. I would have loved to have been one, but besides the lack of a trust fund, I was still sporting the mall bangs.

I am working to release my prejudice of wealthy people. Especially, wealthy, blond, housewives in Beverly Hills with small side businesses. Last week I met one of these women and I, again, became judgemental and enviousness of the inherent fabulousness of her lifestyle. She turned out to be very nice, kind, and smart. Until I learn to accept wealthy people as individual children of God doing what they know how to do best (and not part of some mass conspiracy to forever enslave Latino immigrants), I am keeping my own abundance at bay. And while I'm not looking for trophy wife gig (nor do I qualify for one) I really wouldn't mind weekly massages, monthly travel, and a generous home decorating budget. So long as I see that as evil, I will not manifest it without feeling evil myself. And there is more than enough for everyone.

My accountant gave me a pretty hard time when I told him that I wanted to write off food on my taxes (not meals, just general groceries for the year). He said that it has to be a business related expense. As if we don't need to food to live! How can we work if we're starving?! Geez. I'd say that's a pretty sound business expense.

Later he told me (off hand) that we have to pay taxes after we're deceased, assuming that we die before we've had time to file (if you die the day you've filed, or that weekend, you're cool). As if death isn't complicated enough. I didn't tell my accountant this (because I didn't think he was ready), but I believe that we're eternal beings and don't ever really die. But I wouldn't want the IRS to get ahold of that infomation! "Guess what, federal government, there will be a time when I won't be paying taxes! Hahahahahaha!" That would really get them in a wad.

Just for today, I accept that the IRS can't tax my spirit (only my family of origin can do that).

Today I bought a purse from the Purse Lady at the Farmer's Market for $22. I told her that five years ago I bought a purse from her and that it was now a bunch of threads, but I still get more compliments on it than any other purse I wear. She got all teary eyed and said, "Thank you, my dear! You make me so happy!" Since she didn't accept checks, I had to borrow money from my friend to pay for it. She told me that she had made the purse I chose the night before. The poor lady is grossly underearning, and doesn't seem to realize the obscene amount of money LA ladies will pay for a bag made of nylon, or some creepy jelly substance (Ok, so I do really wanted a Jelly Kelly, but am not into a position to shell out that kind of cash for something that will go out of style in three months). She could be bankrolling it with a few orders at Anthropologie, or some other overpriced store that can make a clothesline look sheek and edgy.

It made me wonderif I, too, am grossly underestimating the value of my own talents. It takes an underearner to know an underearner. Still, I did support her underearning, by not offering more $$ for the purse (am I crazy?).

Just for today, I can own my worth (and, perhaps, some day charge for it).

Just for today I can find ways to exercise that don't involve walking outside in the freezing cold in a bathing suit in the middle of a rainstorm. While the adrenaline prompted by my wearing a bathing suit may induce me to exercise or swim a little harder, I can't refrain from the running dialogue of "I am crazy, why am I doing this? " that goes through my head for at least two to three laps. I know swimming is a gentle low-impact aerobic exercise, but faulty pool-heating systems are not so gentle. They are just *@# cold. Just for today, the question remains, am I highly disciplined, or just masochistic?

Today I discovered that my integrity (i.e., propensity to lie) is easily challenged if start seeing dollar signs. I'm not sure this is a bad thing. Basically, wearing make-up is lying, but I feel more confident. Dying my hair is lying, but hell if I'm going to be gray (which some people can do far better than others). I watch movies that have characters and events that compromise my beliefs, I go to a church where I don't believe in the main religious symbol (has anyone heard of Jesus?). Maybe I'm just a liar and never knew this about myself. Does the universe really care? I somehow don't think so. I think people who police integrity are just miserable deprivation addicts. Still, I would NEVER do a beer commercial...I think.

Just for today, I accept that my integrity has some holes in it.

My mind is a dangerous neighborhood, so I try not to go in there alone. However, today I did, and it got kind of scary. But then my higher power showed me a door which led to the 12-steps. As I was climbing the steps I realized that I was caring Jesus on my back, and I realized that I need to step into the circle of light because I have neglected the plants in my garden, which are rotting because the river of life is flowing away from them and into the ocean of humanity. So then I meditated and realized that I am living in a spiritual desert, and that I am a picture in a frame, but I need to stop decorating the frame and focus on the picture, so that it can fall into the ocean where the drum of life is beating.

Just for today, I can surrender my frame to the river of life and open the door to the safe neigborhood filled with people who can tell Jesus to get off my back.

It seems like the number of drummers I meet and come into contact with is disproportionate to my interaction with those of other professions, like say, doctors, lawyers, etc. (and I know there are a lot of lawyers out there!). But, no, it's drummers. I don't find anything wrong or bad about this, I think drummers are fabulous people, male and female, I'm just curious about the attraction. Am I secretly a drummer? Maybe I just radiate a vibe like I want to pound and beat on things. I wonder if I'm just connecting with others in touch with the primordial beat of life....Ok, the truth is (no offense to drummers), but it feels like, yet, more confirmation that I am not intended for mainstream American life. Let's face it, who less equipped to conform to the flatness of this prozac nation, than drummers...

Just for today, I can embrace my inner drummer.